


the hope for both of us

by kaeda



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for MAG 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeda/pseuds/kaeda
Summary: It's Martin's turn to be the strong one.





	the hope for both of us

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write episode codas or drabbles but I could NOT get this out of my head. Enjoy!

Martin watched Jon sleep and tried his very best to ignore the apocalypse outside.

He _knew _he should be more worried about the world’s descent into chaos than by Jon’s wellbeing – but Jon had such a breakdown earlier, laughing in such an eerie way that it had sent shivers down Martin’s spine. Jon had worn himself out laughing and then sobbing almost violently into the soft material of Martin’s sweater, and then he’d dragged himself to bed. It wasn’t even as though he’d fallen asleep – he fell more into immediate unconsciousness, and only the fact that he was breathing softly kept Martin from spiraling down into a panic attack of his own.

Outside sounded…bad. Mysterious entities howled. Every once in awhile, screaming could be heard. To distract himself, Martin swept up the broken pottery shards in the kitchen from where Jon’s mug had apparently shattered, dropping them neatly in the bin. The tea that had been _in_ the mug had seeped all over a statement on the table, the one Jon had been preparing to read when Martin had left for his walk. He grabbed a dishrag and cleaned it up, noting that the paper had already dried with a dark, inky stain.

Then, the words on the statement caught his eye and he _read_, his eyes widening with horror as every new line revealed itself. By the time he reached the part that contained what was clearly some sort of ritual incantation, Martin’s hands were shaking. Out walking along the lane, taking pictures of the adorable Scottish cows and mentally planning what he would cook for himself and Jon for dinner, Martin had been taken unawares by the sudden opening of Pandora’s box. One moment, he was jauntily walking back to the cottage, the next he was struck by a pang of loneliness so sharp, it ached, and the landscape around him trembled, the sky turning dark. But he’d never thought…he hadn’t realized the statement was connected.

Oh, _Jon_. It explained the traumatized reaction – he was going to blame himself, go deep into his self-loathing, and god forbid Jonathan Sims talk to anyone about his feelings ever. Martin knew (in a way that felt mildly like he’d stepped into an alternate universe) that Jon loved him, he’d seen it in every action Jon had taken since he’d single-handedly pulled him from the Lonely. But Jon had never say the words, using his eyes and his soft smile and the gentleness in his voice to communicate what words could not. It was part of what made Jon himself, and Martin didn’t mind, not when Jon had made it so impossible to doubt with every moment they’d spent together since.

Martin returned to the bedroom and watched Jon’s chest rise and fall with the deep breaths of sleep for a few long, tense moments. Outside, a loud, howling wind began to blow.

He seated himself on the bed next to Jon and ran soft fingers through messy hair. “Jon,” he said. Jon’s forehead creased and he trembled in his sleep, but didn’t wake. Martin leaned down and pressed his lips to Jon’s brow; the novelty of _being able to do that_ still hadn’t worn off. “_Jon_,” he said again, more sharply.

Jon startled awake, blinking slowly and meeting Martin’s eyes. There was a terrifying emptiness to his gaze, as though he was completely, utterly without hope.

Martin steeled himself. He was going to have to be their hope, now. Jon had pulled him out of hopelessness three weeks before, walked him from the Lonely and held him and stroked his hair until he’d come back to himself. Now it was Martin’s turn to do the same.

“I read the statement,” Martin said. “I know what happened. _It wasn’t your fault._”

Jon shuddered against him. “I should have—I was so sure that we’d found a way, I—I should have known.” He rolled closer to Martin to bury his face in his sweater again. “It’s completely my fault,” he mumbled, barely understandable through the soft wool.

“No, Jon,” Martin said, suddenly realizing that all those years and months and days of feeling his own strength increase, feeling more confident and brave and _himself_, had prepared him for this moment. “It’s not your fault. You read the statement, but you didn’t write it. You didn’t plan this. And we’re going to fix it.”

He said the last bit with stone cold certainty, without a waver in his voice, and it echoed through the bedroom even with the sounds of the storm outside. Jon turned his head away from Martin’s sweater to stare at him.

“It’s not fixable,” he said, but almost as though it was a question.

Martin tugged Jon up to sit next to him, leaning up against his side. “Since when has anything being ‘unfixable’ ever stopped you, Jon?” he asked, almost embarrassed at the disgusting amount of fondness that was leaking from his voice. It was startling to realize that in this moment, even through his worry for Jon and the apocalypse raging outside, wondering if their friends were okay and terrified for his life, he was still _content_. He was fiercely glad that no matter what they were facing, he and Jon were going to face it together.

Jon blinked at him, and Martin leaned over to press their foreheads together, looking deep into his eyes. “You’re Jonathan Sims,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “You’ve walked alive out of more situations that anyone said were impossible than anyone else in existence. You’ve stared down every Fear out there and come out of it. You’re one of the only people in the world who has the power to fix this. And—“ Here, his voice finally wobbled slightly, but from emotion and not doubt. “And _I_ believe in you, Jon.”

Jon returned his gaze for several long moments, grasping his hands tightly, as though Martin was an anchor. “You’re right,” he said at last, his voice raspy. His eyes were wet again, but the air of hopelessness, while not vanishing altogether, was markedly less than it had been a few moments before.

Martin gave a sad little laugh and kissed Jon, just once, pressing their mouths together. His heart still took flight every time he did so.

“We’re going to fix this,” he said. “We _are_. We’re going to head back to London, gather our team, and fight this with everything we have.” He didn’t know where this new steel in him had come from. The time in the Lonely had changed him, but knowing Jon needed him had changed him even more.

“And Eli—I mean, Jonah Magnus?” Jon asked. “He’s still out there, somewhere.”

“For the first time in years, neither of us have Jonah Magnus pulling our strings,” Martin said, thinking back to the statement. Magnus may have manipulated them into it, but this love was fiercely, completely _theirs_. “Let’s take advantage of it, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can always hang out with me on [tumblr](https://saucy-kate.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
